


Dawn Will Rise

by Minka



Series: The Lup Rosu Files [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Steve Rogers, Cold War, Developing Relationship, Identity Porn, KGB, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romanian Bucky Barnes, Russian Bucky Barnes, Russian Mythology, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25607938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minka/pseuds/Minka
Summary: In a rundown yurt on the frozen grasslands of Mongolia, an American soldier and a Soviet spy hatch a plan to save not only themselves, but the whole damn world.----Companion piece for End of All Days.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: The Lup Rosu Files [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812415
Comments: 37
Kudos: 81
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020





	Dawn Will Rise

**Author's Note:**

> **Important!**
> 
> If you haven’t read End of All Days, then you SHOULD NOT BE HERE! Go back! Run away! Save yourself!!!!! This will make no sense at all, and, worse still, if you then decide that you want to read End of All Days, this would have ruined everything anyway.
> 
> On the other hand, if you have read (and finished) End of All Days, then I am giving you a choice.
> 
> You take the [blue pill](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23118046)...the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the [red pill](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25607938/)...you stay in Minka Land, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole really goes.
> 
> [Title taken from Thirty Seconds To Mars – Dawn Will Rise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yr-9tyTcDj0)
> 
>   
> As always, thank you to my amazing beta, Nika, and also to MLSummers who has become my official translator!!  
> 
> 
> Crosses **B4** – _Waiting for Extraction_ off my [Bucky Barnes Bingo Card](http://minkawrites.com/bbb-card/).

_The truth comes quickly, I found out_  
_The future swiftly, time runs it down_  
_A liar's litany without a doubt_  
_Come and hit me, strike me while I'm down_

_Fortunes fade in time_  
_I must change or die_

  
_Change or die_

* * *

“Lie to me.”

The instruction was clear enough, even if Steve didn’t really understand the point. He frowned as he looked at the fire and contemplated the words. He’d never been one prone to lying. The words always sat too heavily in the back of his throat, catching and burning and ripping as he struggled to get them out.

Steve sighed and frowned a little more, his eyes searching the dark interior of their found home. He'd never been in a yurt before. Then again, he’d never even known what a yurt was in the first place, so he guessed that went hand in hand. Just like all the countries they’d struggled through beforehand, Mongolia was alien and unknown to Steve.

Clearly, he took too long for Barnes’ liking. “Lie to me,” Barnes repeated.

Barnes wanted him to lie. About something. Anything. For god only knows what purpose, and the first thing that came out of Steve’s mouth was something that had been on his mind for days now. It sat weighted and heavy with each snow-topped, rolling hill they passed.

“I didn’t enjoy killing Rumlow,” he said deadpan.

Steve had seen a lot in his time, done a lot of things that he would regret until the day he died. Killing Rumlow wasn’t one of those things, and if given the chance, he would gladly tighten his hands around the traitor’s neck and relish in seeing the life drain from his eyes again.

Barnes watched him like a hawk, his head on the side as his eyes skimmed over Steve’s face. It made Steve squirm. Barnes always had such intelligent, cunning eyes that it was hard to be the sole focus of his attention for too long.

“Three,” Barnes said simply. Steve wished that the spy would stop speaking in riddles and monosyllabic words. One day, even just for once. 

Steve waited in silence for Barnes to elaborate.

“Three. Things that give you away. You tighten your jaw at the end of your sentences. Like you’re expecting opposition. You’re ready for it. Prepared for it. And your hands. You fidget. It’s slight and you can hide it if you’re behind a desk, but you need to get it in check.”

“What’s the third?”

“Your eyes,” Barnes said simply.

Right on cue, Steve’s eyebrows shot up inquisitively. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

“They’re shifty. You look around too much. Think too much. And you get this dopey sadness thing going on and, god. You’re not going to be able to do this,” Barnes sighed, and it was probably the most dramatic, overly distraught that Steve had ever seen him. It even came with a hand pressed to his forehead and teeth that worried at the corners of his bottom lip.

Steve understood the stress, just as he understood how much was at stake. They’d realised early on that something was going to have to be done. It wasn’t like Barnes could waltz back to America and offer the CIA a high five for not being dead.

Then again, it wasn’t like Barnes had been dead to _everyone_ , either.

“Bucky,” Steve said. He moved around the fire, inching closer with confident steps until he was able to reach out. Steve took Barnes’ chin in his hand and let his fingers follow the natural curve of his jaw and cheek. The tips of his fingers hit Barnes’ hair, and they instantly curled and curved, stroking gently.

“I can do this,” he assured. Reaffirmed. There was too much at stake for Steve not to, even if the severity and reality of what he was facing was only starting to sink in.

“I promise,” Steve finished.

“What did you say to him?” Barnes asked. It was infuriating how little his demeanour and tone changed.

“What?”

“When you killed him,” Barnes said flatly. He could have been blandly talking about the weather for all his expression gave away. “You leant over him and said something.”

“I told him,” Steve sighed. He knew this was a test. It was Barnes trying to prove a point, trying to egg Steve on and push him over the proverbial edge. They’d spent far too much time together now for Steve not to have picked up on those antagonistic little traits Barnes cultivated.

“I told him it was for you. Because of what he’d done to you.”

Steve had always been an honest man.

* * *

“Tell me a story,” Barnes said as he flicked the edge of his favourite knife with his thumb, testing the sharpness.

“You’re really demanding, you know that,” Steve laughed. He stirred the pot, breaking the milky film sitting on top of whatever it was that they were about to eat. It certainly didn’t look all that appealing, but most Mongolian food wasn’t, and Steve's stomach was rumbling far too much to care.

“I grew up poor,” Steve started. He grinned for a moment as if remembering. “I used to steal newspapers from doorsteps to pad out my shoes. For warmth. To fill them out; they were always too big for me.”

It took Barnes all of three seconds – just enough time to cock his head to the side, flick his eyes over Steve and smile – before calling him out.

“Lie,” Barnes said, and Steve hated him.

“It wasn’t!” Steve protested. He felt like a perturbed child as he struggled to insist even though he knew full well that Barnes was right. It wasn’t a _complete_ lie though, and he really had put newspapers in his shoes once, but he’d never stolen them.

Barnes looked him over, those dark eyes sweeping across his body in a way that had Steve struggling not to shiver. Even now in the relative calm of their frozen world, there was something wild about Barnes’ eyes. Something simmering tame but raging feral just under the surface. Steve wasn’t comfortable acknowledging how many times he lost himself in those eyes.

“You don’t steal,” Barnes pointed out casually. It was crushing how well he had Steve figured out, and, what’s more, Steve just knew that Barnes enjoyed it. He could see it in the Romanian’s smile; in the way that damn eyebrow quirked upwards, daring Steve to try and prove him wrong.

Lost and happily so, Steve tried something else entirely.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” Steve said, and this time Barnes didn’t verbally reply. He smirked that trademark grin of his and went back to sharpening his knife.

Steve was still terrible at lying but it didn’t matter so much when he was telling the truth.

* * *

“The key to a good cover story is to use what you already know,” Barnes said. It was random and off the cuff. He was skinning a rabbit, his hands blood-red and gripping a knife in a way that made Steve queasy.

Barnes had always been good with knives.

“They’ll never believe you if you make everything up,” he continued. “You don’t need to lie outright, just bend the truth.”

“Is this what they taught you in spy school?” Steve asked. Maybe it was a little light-hearted for the moment, the intensity in Barnes’ words had Steve’s heart racing all over again.

Of course, he’d known that this would all end with him in an interview room, telling what he could of their story, but the closer that reality came, the more it grated at his nerves. It was like the noises he heard in the night; the rhythmic whir of helicopter blades and, now, the dull silence of a concrete room and the magnified beat of his own heart. The sound of steel doors closing and missing rivets in the wielded joins.

Barnes’ hands had stopped their work, and it took a moment of Steve blinking to really focus in on the other’s gaze. Steve knew that Barnes could see right through him. Read him like a fucking book.

“It’s what I had to learn to survive,” Barnes said, deadpan. “Now tell me a lie.”

A lie. A lie. No matter how many times they played this game, Steve still struggled to create something out of thin air. He was getting better – Barnes never said as much, but Steve could see it in the subtle twitch of his lips, which, when Steve really thought about it, made no sense. Barnes had always been unreadable.

Hell, maybe Barnes was allowing those micro-expressions simply to fool Steve into making a cocky mistake.

“Tell me about Natasha.” Clearly Barnes was bored of waiting.

Steve nodded, his mind flicking back to their days in Bucharest. It was easier when he was prompted. “She’s a spy,” he finally said.

“Wrong,” Barnes interjected. There was a hint of a sigh in his voice, as if he’d expected more and Steve had gravely let him down. It pranged Steve’s heart and made him sit up straight; clear his head and think better. He wanted to please Barnes; prove that he could be trusted with this. That he would make good on his promise to protect him.

When Barnes next spoke, his tone was a little softer, though no less put upon. “You can’t go telling them that. Her cover can’t be blown, especially not now. She’s all that’s left.” 

Steve nodded and mulled his next words over.

“She’s a smuggler,” Steve said. He frowned a little as he carried on, trusting some dark part of his mind to tell his mouth what needed to be said. Live the lie; that was what Barnes often said. Keep it as real as possible.

“Soviet. Maybe,” Steve shook his head. “She’s your contact,” Steve mused, taking the time to mull things over. “I don’t know her, but you trusted her, so I had no choice.”

Barnes just grinned at him as he ripped the skin off the carcass with practised ease. 

“There’s nothing more to tell,” Steve said. “She was… Russian. At least I think. Unknown accent. About yay high,” he said with a dismissive wave, “and had an attitude that complimented yours frighteningly well.”

Steve felt the first beat of confidence in his heart. That was good. At least, he hoped it was. A blend of fact and fiction; no more lie than truth, but both were deceptive. 

Barnes, for his part, disembowelled the rabbit over a bowl before using the back of his wrist to push a strand of hair out of his eyes. Steve’s fingers itched and burned with the desire to touch.

“You saying I have an attitude, Rogers?” Barnes asked, and that more than any words of praise, told Steve that he’d done a good job.

* * *

“You’re like Bambi,” Barnes chastised. “All big eyes and internal flailing. Calm yourself.”

The spy looked frazzled today, his hair sticking up at odd spots. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of a sleepless night, not that Steve needed to see the proof to know. Barnes had tossed and turned all night, caught between nightmares and dreams and anxious wakefulness. There had been little that Steve could do. He shushed and soothed and touched when Barnes didn’t seem ready to jump out of his skin.

It had been a hard night for both of them, but Barnes wasn’t a lenient teacher, not even in the frosty dawn light. It was trickling in through the open door, the snow outside glowing a pale blue as the sky streaked yellow. Mongolia was beautiful like that, a kaleidoscope of colour and a sky so endless that Steve really could believe that they were at the ends of the earth.

The view was blocked as Barnes moved in front of him.

“Look at me,” Barnes ordered. Steve was powerless not to give in, a small smirk forming on his lips.

“You’re lucky I like bossy,” Steve quipped.

Barnes rolled his eyes and smiled, his head shaking slightly before he breathed in deep. Steve could see the change in him flick like a switch. Carefree and possibly even giddy morphing into stoic and secretive within a second. He stood tall and straight, the tiredness in his eyes hidden by the backlight.

“They will come at you,” Barnes continued, marking the end of the respite. “You need to be ready. You need to stay calm no matter what they say.”

Steve nodded. He knew that it wasn’t as simple as deciding that he was ready, but part of him was sure that Barnes was taking this a little too far. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. And, he told himself, it was the American government, not the KGB or a jungle-mad Viet Cong officer hell-bent on rooting the USA out.

“What did you find at Lena Pillars?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not good enough,” Barnes hissed. “What did you find at Lena Pillars?”

Steve knew better than to let his eyes flick to the side, but the temptation was right there. It glowed blue and strangely forgotten by the two of them; a pale reminder of the difficulties to come.

He might not have been able to read Barnes’ expression, but Barnes could sure as hell see him. The spy had made sure of that, sitting Steve down on the squat chair in the middle of the rectangle of light. It was, Steve assumed, about as close to an interrogation room as Barnes could manage under the circumstances.

The fact that Barnes even thought about setting that scene, let alone having had experienced something much worse, made Steve’s blood run cold. The chill had nothing to do with the soft pattering of snow that blew into the yurt and caught in the askew ends of Barnes’ hair.

“Death,” Steve said. He felt the word tighten his throat as he waited for reprimand. When Barnes said nothing, Steve read the cue for what it was, his words fumbling only once before he got himself started. “Winter came for us,” he continued. “We searched everywhere. Rumlow and I, and-”

“And you couldn’t overpower Rumlow? A big guy like you?”

Steve wondered how much of that question was a direct dig and how much came from the role Barnes was playing.

“Not at the start. Not bound and with the remainder of the Soviet force there. I was still in shock. I’d just lost _everything_.”

Barnes. He’d just lost Barnes. _Bucky_. And for the first time in all this, Steve knew he was finally starting to understand. Blend the lie with the reality. Mix that stab of pain with the fabricated facts to sell the propaganda.

“Shift,” Barnes instructed. It was as cryptic as it was deadpan. Steve frowned and Barnes clearly saw it. The spy huffed and Steve imagined that his eyes would be crinkling at the corners and his lips pursed.

“You told me not to move.”

Barnes’s right arm moved to rub at the back of his neck. It was an action that Steve had long associated with Barnes’ patience being pushed to the brink.

“There’s a difference,” Barnes said. He’d started pacing, the back and forth causing the sunlight to flicker and burn Steve’s eyes. “You need to be confident. Own your space. Control the room. Understand the power of movement. The significance of deliberate sound. The creak of a chair when you shift. The sound of leaning your weight against the table. The subtle catch in the back of your throat when you exhale.” Barnes kept talking and Steve did his best to take it all in. “It shows confidence and creates power. You need to know when to use it.”

Steve could understand that. It was the same as the way Barnes’s eyes flicked, cat-like and predatory. Or the way he dropped his head and looked up through his lashes while stalking his prey. It was the disapproving narrowing of his eyes paired with the subtle, not-quite-there shake of his head. They were Barnes’ plays in face-to-face situations; Steve needed to have his own in a room he couldn’t predict.

But then Barnes went and tipped the scales yet again.

“When did you start fucking Barnes?” he asked.

Steve faltered, his eyes blowing wide and his breath catching in his throat. Even he knew it wasn’t in the good, deliberate way that Barnes had just been schooling him in.

“They will come at you with everything they have,” Barnes simply said. He shifted then, moving away from the door, and for a moment, Steve could see his face highlighted by the morning sun. For all of Barnes’ dark, glowering looks, he sure as hell had a knack for looking disappointed as well. “They will use me against you, and you…” Barnes moved his right hand through the air, rolling his wrist and twisting his fingers as he searched for words. "Вся душа нараспашку как самый настоящий ребёнок." Barnes spat. It was the first time he’d spoken Russian since Siberia, and something about that had Steve flinching, even if he didn’t understand the words. 

“You need to fix that, or you’ll condemn us both.”

Steve wasn’t sure what had more of an effect. The words, or the way that Barnes turned on his heels and walked out into the morning glow.

* * *

Steve watched the smoke trails of Barnes’ cigarette curl and twist before disappearing into the twilight.

The spy was oddly serene, his head turned towards the sky, his face bathed in moonlight. It made him look pale. All hollow skin and dark hair and frozen eyes. Steve remembered troubled times in gulag camps and the sound of helicopters overhead, but mostly the sight reminded him of otherworldly beauty.

“There’s a long-running joke in the Soviet Union about gas leaks.” Barnes’ voice caught Steve off guard, his body physically flinching at the sound. They’d been in silence since picking the bones of the rabbit clean, and while it had been comfortable despite the cold, Steve felt a flush colour his cheeks at the realization that he’d been staring. There was no way that Barnes wouldn’t have noticed his bleary-eyed attention. Even now, Barnes didn’t take well to being stared at. 

Barnes continued. “They don’t happen. Not possible, they say. So, when I was sent to neutralize a security threat…” Barnes sucked in deep on that cigarette, his chest puffing out with the drag. The pale grey tint to the air that trickled out of his lungs hung heavily around his face. Muted starlight and physically tarnished words.

After so long with Barnes, Steve understood already, and he felt his mouth go dry.

“They’re easy to fabricate,” Barnes carried on. “Gas only does so much, but a faulty appliance? A spark in a toaster that shouldn’t be there? Small steps lead to a destructive whole. A blaze. It can bring the whole building crashing down. And when your target is holed up in their apartment and won’t leave due to fear. Well. You do what you have to, no matter how many people are around.

“I did what I _had_ to.”

The way Barnes left those words hanging, heavy and meaningful and dark in the air between them, filled in all the points left unsaid. All the casualties that followed in the name of a cover story.

Steve had often wondered what Barnes had done during his time as a double agent. It was easy to see him as the saviour now; as the resistance fighter and the complicatedly good man that Steve had come to know. But back then? When he was trading secrets between governments and doing whatever he could to maintain cover? Steve had always feared the demons in Barnes’ past.

Maybe he was quiet for too long. Or maybe Barnes was wanting a reaction from Steve that he hadn’t given. Either way, he spoke before Steve could finish filing and categorizing his own thoughts.

“Which one is the lie?” Barnes asked.

More than anything, Steve wanted to damn Barnes and his games. But there was more to this exercise than that.

“You only gave me one story,” Steve pointed out. Part of him was proud of that observation. He could tell himself that he was getting better at this. That he was learning and understanding the way Barnes operated and the way his mind worked.

Barnes though? Well, he smiled that secret smile and took a drag of that cigarette. The smoke wafted from between his lips, lingering and rolling before dissipating into the moonlit night.

“I was sleeping with Rumlow.”

Not for the first time, Steve felt his world tip upside down and the weight of choice sit heavily against his chest. 

Damn Barnes.

* * *

“How did you find me?”

Over the days they’d spent huddled in this yurt, Barnes had hit Steve with a lot of difficult questions and maddening scenarios. None of them, however, had been unfair. Not like this.

Steve propped himself up on his elbows, the blanket falling off his chest as he watched Barnes silently.

“I asked you a question,” Barnes berated. “You need to concentrate!”

“I am,” Steve whined. It was pitiful, and he knew he was clearly concentrating on the wrong thing, but he couldn’t help himself. Not when he dreamed about that skin, and the way it felt to touch, or how Barnes would shiver, and burrow closer any time Steve trailed his fingers over patches of scar tissue. He never went to the newest though, never touched the place that red star had been, even if he did have the desire to try and kiss the pain away.

“Besides,” Steve tried again, finding it remarkably difficult to swallow. “I really doubt that whoever is interviewing me is going to be hot and naked,” Steve reasoned with a whine.

Barnes fixed him with his trademark withering stare and sighed. He shifted, moving closer – crawling closer – and Steve felt his mind short circuit.

“And they’re sure as hell not going to be looking like _you_ and doing _that_ ,” he added. Unless the CIA had some sort of naked interrogation policy, Steve knew for sure that Barnes wasn’t playing fair right now.

“Good,” Barnes said tersely, and just for a moment, Steve was sure that Barnes actually meant it. That he was honestly happy that he had this sort of effect on Steve, and that he _knew_ Steve was blind to all others.

“But how did you find me?” Relentless; Barnes was fucking relentless.

“Coulson ga-” Steve switched tactics.

“Wrong.” Barnes’ features twisted into a pout of pure disapproval and Steve knew he’d already fucked up. This wasn’t about truth. It was about deception. Weeding out the moles within the CIA and their subdivisions. Finishing the job that Coulson and Barnes had started years ago. 

“There was a file,” Steve tried again and with a dry mouth. Barnes didn’t instantly stop him, so he took that as encouragement and pressed on. “On my desk. Your enlistment file.”

“Mention my death,” Barnes added. He moved closer and Steve felt what was left of his brain drain southward. “The CIA knows that. Their side, at least. You should too.”

“And it included the details of your execution at the hands of the Soviets,” Steve finished. Barnes didn’t exactly look happy with the story, but he hadn’t corrected Steve at all, so Steve guessed they were getting somewhere.

“After that… I…” Steve’s words trailed off as Barnes’ hands moved lower. He shivered as strong, calloused fingers traced over muscles that quivered and jerked in response.

Steve was on fire, burning up at each point of contact, and Barnes left tingling heat blazing as he explored. When Barnes’ lips joined in the torture, Steve knew he was fucked. Struck deaf and dumb and rendered helpless against the onslaught.

“Come on. How did you find me?” Barnes continued, each word punctuated with a glottal catch that had Steve’s pulse racing. He could feel that breathy twang of Barnes’ accent against his skin.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve murmured.

“Pretty sure he had nothing to do with it,” and fuck Steve sideways, but he could _feel_ that smirk against his hip, dark and wild and so very playfully condescending. “So. How did you find me?”

Steve let out an undignified mewl at the question. Damn Barnes and his ability to think and focus and concentrate. Steve almost hated him for it. 

“Cold drops. No clue who or how, even now. But photos of you in… in… in _places_.”

Barnes chuckled, for once more amused than irritated with Steve’s slip. “Close. Better,” the spy encouraged. “Continue.”

Steve groaned again, his hips flexing as his pulse throbbed a beat so rapid he could hear it in his head.

“I really don’t want to think about that right now,” Steve breathed honestly.

Barnes – damn him – answered with a sharp bite over the ridge of Steve’s hipbone and a grunt that clearly translated to, “Try again!”

“Brasov. Images of you there. And then others. Others because,” Steve’s mind was a mess and he knew that Barnes knew it. Twisted, that’s what this was and Steve was sure that Barnes was out to drive him mad. “Others because I need to find you in Bucharest, so there were pictures of you there too.”

Barnes answered by sitting up. Moving away. Leaving Steve and his flushed skin and throbbing need devoid of contact.

It was quite possibly the worst thing he could have ever done to Steve. For a moment, Steve was completely convinced that it was another form of torture. Another lesson; another reprimand for things unsaid and transparent lies. Yet there was a smirk on Barnes’ face, and a twinkle in his eyes and while he did sit up and his mouth did move away, he didn’t leave their little nest of warm blankets and futon cushions.

There wasn’t a damn thing Steve could do to stop himself from reaching forward and grasping Barnes’ hips in his hands. When Barnes didn’t try to physically reprimand him, Steve took it as a good sign and used that grip to pull Barnes closer; shift him right into his lap, one leg on either side of Steve’s thighs.

If anyone had tried to tell him that the fabled Winter Soldier would nestle so perfectly into Steve’s lap before this, Steve would have laughed in their faces.

Yet here they were. It felt more right than anything and for once – for one god _damn_ time – Barnes stopped asking his damn questions and just let Steve kiss him.

* * *

“How did Rumlow die?”

“He slipped. It was tragic.”

Barnes scoffed and rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t convincing at all,” he accused.

“Guilty as charged,” Steve laughed back, his arms tightening his grip on Barnes and pulling him closer. He liked these moments. When they didn’t want to get out from under the furs and just spent the time spit-balling the hours away.

“Try again,” Barnes instructed even as Steve took a moment to trail his fingers through the bed-tangles of Barnes’ hair.

“We fought,” Steve said, his hands never stopping their gentle movement. It helped him focus, helped him visualize the scene and fabricate the details. Of course, Rumlow wasn’t really who Steve wanted to be thinking about in bed, but time was of the essence, and this sort of multitasking was the only thing that kept Barnes at bay. If Steve didn’t play along now, then the spy would have them up and dressed and he’d be grilling Steve like a staff-sergeant.

“We were down to three. It was so fucking cold, and we were all exhausted, but the Soviet ran and…” Steve sighed and frowned a little. It hid his eyes; took the thoughtful expression out of them and made them seem sorrowful. Haunted by memory and hardship. At least that was what Barnes had told him. “I had nothing left to lose. So we fought.”

Barnes was like a cat. Steve had seen that before, thought it to himself as he watched Barnes circle in on his prey then pounce. He was feline grace and fast reflexes.

He was also, as Steve found out, prone to other feline tendencies.

When Barnes was alert and focused, he went a million miles an hour. His mind worked in ways that Steve couldn’t possibly understand or keep up with, and Steve was a military man himself. He was used to making those split-second decisions. 

But when Barnes was relaxed, in those rare moments that he deemed himself safe, then Barnes was like a sleepy kitten. He liked attention, and he liked soft touches and warm places, and he’d rest his hand and chin on Steve’s chest and smile up at him as they made their plans.

Just like a cat, though, Barnes could go from cuddly to claws and teeth in an instant, and that was what happened now.

He shifted. A strong finger poked Steve in the side, and when Steve looked down this time, Barnes was wilting him with one of the spy’s trademark glares.

“I didn’t ask what happened,” Barnes goaded. “I don’t care about the sob story or your feelings. I asked _how_ Rumlow died.”

It was infuriating and annoying and sometimes Steve really just wanted to swat Barnes in his snide face. _But_.

Steve sighed. “We fought. And when the opportunity came, I gladly threw him off the cliff.”

Lost in the mess that was Barnes’ hair, Steve’s fingers twitched with memory; tight and hard and clawing. Scratching. Nails bending. _Pushing_. Crushing. “I looked down more than once to make sure he was dead.” Steve lifted his chin and swallowed words best left unsaid, and then offered ones that would condemn him anyway. “And I would do it again in a heartbeat. Over and over and _over_ again if I had the chance.”

“That’s better,” Barnes said. Pacified, he stopped with the poking and the dark glares and settled down against Steve's chest once again. Steve wrapped his arm back around Barnes’ shoulders.

“Never give more,” Barnes reasoned. “Less is more. It’s a smaller amount for astute people to poke holes in.”

Steve nodded. “Only answer the question,” he repeated from one of their earlier sessions. He was learning. It was taking a bit, but he was getting there.

Barnes seemed to agree, and silently said as much by mouthing at Steve’s collarbone and this time, when Steve grabbed him, even Barnes didn’t find a way to turn it into a lesson in deception.

* * *

“Ready?”

Steve had been dreading this moment, and while the physical pain was enough, it wasn’t the reason that everything hurt.

The clock had been ticking. Time was up, and Steve felt it like a knife to the gut.

“A parting gift to remember me by,” Barnes said with a grin. It was the last thing Steve saw before his head snapped back with the impact of Barnes’ fist. The Romanian clearly had never heard about pulling punches or holding back.

Steve spat blood to the frozen ground and turned bewildered eyes on Barnes.

“I would have settled for a kiss,” he snarked. Despite that, he got it. He really did. The story they’d woven, infused with reality and tangible checkpoints, needed Steve to be wild and fresh from the fight. He was still a walking bruise thanks to his showdown with Rumlow, but they were fading to green, and his lip no longer stung with every word.

They had to make his story believable, and for that to work, they had to get creative. A darker bruise here, a controlled sprain there; Barnes was a master at handing out injuries.

Steve tried not to read too much into the way Barnes smirked, or the pleasure he took in the one-sided tumble.

Barnes seemed to enjoy that compliance just as much as the snark that followed. He was like a tall, dark cat as he stalked those few steps closer. The kiss he started was pleasure and pain, lip and teeth and desperate need.

Steve’s hands sank into Barnes’ hair and held on a little tighter than strictly necessary. He loved that hair; the feeling between his fingers, the way it curled against his palms and the way a tug could make Barnes groan or, better yet, whimper with need. Steve was sure he had as many lingering daydreams about that hair as he did about Barnes’ eyes and his smile and the way he walked and that wicked flick of dark humour. Barnes’ everything, really.

When Barnes pulled away, his lips were red with Steve’s blood and that wild, raging fire was alive in his icy coloured eyes.

“Like that?” Barnes asked. The way he grinned was nothing short of sardonic; a twisted, cocky expression that Steve knew he’d also dream about in the months to come.

Steve only got half a nod of response before Barnes clocked him again, this time even harder. Steve caught it in the eye, the explosion to his nerves blindingly rapid and intense. It would bruise before the day was through.

“Gotta make it look real,” the spy grinned; Steve saw stars and not just because of the pain. His eyes watered and stung, his nose scrunching up with that uncontrollable need to sneeze. But through it all, he saw Barnes. Barnes walking away from him and the seemingly endless stretch of months between the here and the later that they’d planned.

The best way to combat that was to ignore it, Steve decided, and the best way he could ignore it was to give in to base instincts and impulses. His hands shot out again, one grabbed Barnes’ hip while the other went straight back into that damn hair. Steve pulled Barnes’ head forward, pressing their lips together with the heated urgency of a man starved. He could taste his own blood and feel the throb of Barnes’ heartbeat in the deep split that had cracked back open on Steve’s bottom lip. 

This time it lingered, lips silently saying all the many things that neither of them was good at voicing. Steve got too tongue-tied to really tell Barnes how he felt, and Barnes didn’t even seem to have those words in his vocabulary. Moments like these were easier somehow. Expressions and truths, wordless devotion and vows that couldn’t be blundered or ruined by phrases and irrationality. It was them and now, here and later, regardless of the time that would stretch out before them. Both despite and because of the burden they now shared and the secret they carried.

When the kiss ended, it wasn’t just Steve who was breathless and off-kilter. Barnes leant against him in a way that Steve had never experienced before. It wasn’t the defeated, pained lean of a man beaten down and forced to face his demons, nor was it the casual press of shoulders between comrades.

This was needy and longing so strong that Steve felt his feet stagger as he pulled Barnes even closer.

Forehead to forehead, the hand that Steve sank into Barnes’ hair this time was soft and tender. Cradling. Remembering and tracing over the shape of his head and down the side of his neck. Mapping everything he’d never forget.

“You be safe,” Steve breathed. The words hurt, but the pain reminded him that he was alive. That they were both alive, and that they had to get through this.

Barnes had a hard road ahead of him. A nameless life of border crossings and lies. Safe houses that may not exist and a bag weighed down with the frightening truth that could change the world. Steve had lies and bright lights, and Barnes had dark nights and aliases to burn. 

“You better lie well,” Barnes said back. Always so sweet, so romantic and meaningful. Then again, Steve would have been stupid to expect anything else from the spy who’d just decked him in the name of _keeping up appearances_.

“I will,” Steve promised. “I’ll do you proud.” Barnes nodded, the action a soft rub against Steve’s skin. Steve’s hand tightened in Barnes’ hair once more, pulling him close and breathing a million promises and declarations against the blood smears on Barnes’ lips.

One more kiss. One more silent cry over the cruelty of fate and then Steve let go. He stood back, and he did the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Harder than creeping through the jungle at night; harder than any time spent in the dark hearing the echoes of screams. 

He walked away and left Barnes on the yurt step.

_The end... for now_

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not going to lie… I fucking love how this turned out. It’s one of those things that I’m just 110% proud of. The style was fun with the snippet, moment in time scenes, the few descriptions used come across with a punch, and, of course, there is all those answers as well as all those things left unsaid. And, in turn, even more questions raised. 
> 
> Either way, it should leave you all with a lot to unpack. 
> 
> I was so super excited to see so many commenters at the end of End of All Days saying that they were going to reread and look for clues. This is the reason I advised people to wait a little. There are so many direct quotes and callbacks to the Steve and Sitwell scenes in this. Practiced words that Steve said; the way he’d lean and make the chair creak; the way he’d think about the movement of his own eyes. How to lie, what to say, don’t give more information than needed. It all comes back to this training. 
> 
> Of course, my lovely astute readers, I’m sure you also noticed the other really big, really OMFG hints hidden in here. There’s three that totally change the nature of the entire game (and you can bet that other companion pieces will be coming back to them) and a handful of other little twists of the truth. I won’t point them out here, but please feel free to theorize in the comments! 
> 
> **So. What’s next?**
> 
> The truth is, a small break. There will be more in this series (a substantial ‘more’ too) but it’s still in the works. I would have loved to have everything ready and rolled it out in a weekly phase, but I’m just not that organized. Also. To be honest. As much as I LOVE this series, I needed a little break. It’s a heavy, tough and very mentally involved thing to write. It demands a lot of attention and, dare I say, the right mood to write and dissect the characters and really get in their heads. Especially with what is planned. There has also been another big research push needed. 
> 
> I’ll get more to you as soon as I can though, so subscribe to the series to make sure you don’t miss it. 
> 
> In the meantime, there will be a completely new, completely different chaptered fic coming your way soon(ish). It’s still in the writing and _‘how to make this fit with that’_ stage, but it’s a lot more light-hearted and fun, so hopefully it won’t take too long. 
> 
> As a teaser, it’s going to tick off a lot of my other [Bucky Barnes Bingo Squares](http://minkawrites.com/bbb-card/), is a Modern Royals AU and comes served with a healthy dose of masked vigilante antics and art heists. 
> 
> Just to be weird (and to actually post something to this blog that I have) [I’ve put up a few little breadcrumb ideas here to get you all excited.](http://minkawrites.com/the-midnight-fox-inspiration-board/)
> 
> As always, feedback, chats and fangirling feeds me, so please let me know what you thought! Did you like the style? Did you see the other big hints? Did you see that they touched!!!! Like. Wow! That’s the closest to smut we’ve gotten in close to 120k words!!!!
> 
> Also, I’m going to issue a comment challenge; can anyone guess at the name of the next fic in this series? There have been hints!


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